Crude Sugar
by Bardicsidhe
Summary: [Tristan x Kaiba] Written for Misura's 2004 Halloween Challenge. Tristan learns that in little ways, even someone he thought he knew could still surprise him.


Title: Crude Sugar

Rating: PG

Pairing: Tristan x Kaiba

Notes: Written for a Halloween challenge by fellow fanfiction author Misura – a no more than PG-rated fic that must include a pairing of two characters and either a) a treat, or b) a trick (inanimate object).

-

Seto Kaiba was, and always had been a creature of habit with a set pattern of – fairly – predictable behavior. Brilliant technological innovations aside, he was like many of his powerful contemporaries – a feeling of supremacy and satisfaction could be derived from managing every tiny detail of his life to an orderly science.

Tristan Taylor knew this. After a few weeks of the introductory course, he felt like maybe, even, he was getting the hang of it. One didn't work _with _Seto Kaiba…one worked _around _him. His schedule and his ego moved for no man. As Tristan was generally flexible and forgiving about these things, they found that their personalities meshed in a workable sort of way.

Needless to say, when the butler of the Kaiba estate ushered Tristan into the kitchen that afternoon, he was a little shocked to see the wealthy and powerful teenage corporate mogul…sitting on the counter. His slacks had ridden up, presumably from the remarkable amount of calf they were expected to cover. About three inches of ankle showed – three-quarters of which still primly hidden by jet dress socks. But a strip of pale skin showed on each ankle, neatly crossed one over the other, and to make matters worse, he _was barefoot_.

Dreading what effect the rest of the body perched on the polished marble surface was going to have on him, Tristan reluctantly dragged his eyes upward. Tailored suit jacket, expensive royal purple shirt, perfectly folded collar. The main portion his vision of _Seto Kaiba: Kaibacorp CEO_ appeared intact.

Except for the popsicle. Grape, to be precise, the end of which was poked ridiculously between Seto's lips. The older boy had apparently missed Tristan's entrance, as Seto's gaze was still fixed intently down on the sugary frozen treat.

Hello, Armageddon.

The butler cleared his throat.

Seto looked up, and promptly froze. Now the blue eyes were riveted on the brunette across the kitchen beside his employee, widened a touch, as though he wasn't sure how to go about restoring his dignity. He was in the middle of a downstroke on the end of the popsicle, and if he stayed like that any longer, Tristan thought, the poor guy was going to freeze his lips to the ice.

As it turned out, he was entirely right. When the extreme cold bit through at last, Seto gamely tried to remove the popsicle, and found that he couldn't, and his eyes went wider. One slender wrist dropped down, fingers curling around the beveled edge of the countertop.

For all the shock to the system the older boy's position had been, Tristan found himself now desperately trying not to smile. But snickering at a Seto Kaiba flub was bound to bring the hounds of Hell down on his head, and so with that threat hanging over, he managed to deny the need to laugh.

A quick series of delicate tugs later, the popsicle popped free, taking a layer of Seto's skin with it. His tongue ran across his tender lips, and he dropped his head quickly, wiping the corners of his mouth with his free fingers as he pushed off of the countertop.

He didn't do it quite fast enough.

His tongue was purple. Which Tristan hadn't failed to notice. It flickered purple when he talked…and it was…quite distracting.

"Your technical assistant has arrived, Master Kaiba," the butler informed his employer somewhat belatedly, and ducked out of the room before Seto had the opportunity to dismiss him. Tristan turned quickly to catch the old man's expression, and saw that he, too, was only barely holding onto a fit of giggles.

Seto didn't answer him, and in the brief seconds in which Tristan's eyes left him, he'd managed to conjure up quite a respectable indifferent glare. "You are early."

Tristan wasn't going to let him off the hook _that _quickly. "What, you weren't going to share?" he asked, still only just avoiding a grin.

"Mokuba had an abundance of…these things…" Seto held the popsicle up by its wooden stick as he turned to drop it into the garbage can, "…in the freezer. The kitchen staff has been complaining about them for some time. I was intending to simply dispose of them."

"There's quicker ways to get rid of stuff you don't want than eat it," Tristan replied simply.

Seto snorted derisively. "Obviously. I could have my guards simply remove him from the premises."

"I'd get rid of the guy too, since he let me walk in before I was supposed to be here."

"I was referring to—" Seto faltered, as the other boy shuffled a step closer and reached up as though to touch his lips. He snatched Tristan's wrist and shoved his hand to the side. "—what the hell are you doing?"

"Your lips are purple."

"Of course. Those silly things are laced with artificial coloring. I can't understand what Mokuba sees in them, as there is a perfectly good tiramisu in the—"

"Do you know what they're called?"

There was a pause. Seto regarded Tristan coolly. "What are _what _called?"

"Those 'silly things,' you keep talking about."

Faced with an unknown, and unhappy that Tristan understood a childish principle that _he_, somehow, did not, Seto's eyes narrowed. "This is ridiculous." He started to turn away.

"Hah!"

"What could you possibly find amusing, Taylor? Although I suppose with your monkey brain, it takes very little to amuse you."

The insults, for some reason, never seemed to work on Tristan. Seto knew the secret to ticking him off, but as the weeks had passed while the two boys worked together on the finer points of the simulator ride, that particular 'button' seemed unfair to push. He reassured himself that it was only because insulting the younger boy's friends was already impossibly easy to do, and it seemed unsportsmanlike.

While he was reassuring himself, Tristan had moved all the closer. "You _don't _know what they're called, do you? What you were just eating."

"No, I don't." He recoiled. "My taste is certainly above artificially-flavored ice. Although apparently _yours _isn't…?"

"They're called popsicles."

"Popsicles. What a remarkably infantile word."

"Know what else?"

"I can't imagine."

"My favorite flavor is grape."

"Fascinating….mmf…." And without further notice, Tristan pressed his lips against Seto's. It wasn't even a _proper_ kiss…no touching at all besides mouth to mouth. The brown-eyed boy looked ridiculous doing it.

So to make it a little less ridiculous, Seto hooked his index finger in the beltloop of Tristan's jeans and yanked until their hips were flush. That…popsicle…didn't taste _remotely _like grapes, but it was still sweet. Rather crude and harsh in its sugary taste, but sweet nonetheless. His lips were a little tender yet from near-frostbite a minute or two earlier, and the inside of his mouth was cold.

Tristan seemed willing to help.

But his schedule was the same as always. After a few seconds, he braced both hands against Tristan's shoulders and shoved him forcibly back.

The younger boy's lips were just a little purple too now, weren't they? "Looks like you were gonna share after all."

"Whatever intention you had of returning early to work, it's wasted now."

"We could waste even more time." Tristan arched a brow with a smirk.

"Yes. I'm sure _you _could." Seto returned the favor, sans the smile.

"Aww, don't be like that. I'm still…" the taller of the two brunettes flipped up his wrist, squinting at his watch. "…technically five minutes early. And in five minutes, you could kill another popsicle."

There was a long pause.

"Well?" Tristan asked, growing impatient.

"I suppose there's a pathetic excuse for strawberry in the freezer somewhere."


End file.
